Can You Hear Me Now

I’ll know my song well before I start singing.

Bob Dylan

I like to say that I catch nostalgia like a cold. It grabs hold of me and clouds my senses with illusions and fantasies. Play Me and You and a Dog Named Boo and I’m 13-years-old driving in the car with Dad up to Mormon Lake to help open up Saint Joseph’s Youth Camp. Say Ringworld and I’m 18-years-old lying in the grass outside the Scottsdale public library. It could be anything. A rock, a cactus, or a smell can send my mind sailing away to days long past and places long gone.

Fun fact. One of my first jobs was cleaning the Knights of Columbus hall after their weekly meetings. The place reeked from years of stale beer and cigarette smoke. To this day, that combination of odors takes me right back to that job and my dollar an hour paycheck. Totally off the books, of course.

For the most part, I am able to balance nostalgia with life as it is today. I don’t get too hung up on “life was so much better back then,” but as much as I love so much of my existence today, I honestly feel that some things actually were better 40 to 50 years ago.

The world was very different before we became so reliant on digital technology. Nearly every day I see groups of young people walking to and from Saint Thomas University and they are all glued to their smart phones. Very few people talk let along make eye contact with another human being. While I have fallen prey to the allure of doom scrolling, that is not how college life was for me. Perhaps my memory is fuzzy, but I remember being far more engaged with my surroundings. I was always on the lookout for someone I knew or a stranger with an interesting appearance about him or her.

I am also a softie for music that was made by people and not machines. Auto-tune voices over digitally created tracks does nothing for me. I like the sound of fingers on strings and lips blowing into brass. I am not afraid of electronics, but I prefer it to enhance rather than dominate.

I still read a daily newspaper, but most people I know have turned to social media for their view of the world. I love sitting at the breakfast table with The Minnesota Star Tribune spread out before me. It’s my time to free the mind from flashy distractions and absorb the news of the day in a leisurely manner. Newsprint articles stay with me longer than the millions of headlines that constantly scroll by on my phone.

Of course, this blog is only accessible via digital devices, so I am clearly not trying to deny their importance. With this blog, and my much older technical blog, I am able to connect with people across the world. I am still a small fish in a big pond, but modern technology has allowed me to be a tiny bit larger.

A vision caught unaware
or a thought that rises above all others without warning
memories lingering
a smoldering fire rising up in flame again

This is how it goes
and this is how I expect it to be
forever

Brian Wilson

This is not the article I intended to write. It was actually supposed to be about the recent passing of Beach Boy Brian Wilson and how much his life and music meant to me. Unfortunately, the mere mention of nostalgia pushed me down a completely different path.

I suppose that’s the purpose of nostalgia, though. Memories trigger memories and before you know it, I am lost in reminiscence. And while I may be sounding too much like an angry, wandering “get off my lawn” missive, this actually feels quite sweet and calming. It’s the loving touch from a long lost, yet still cherished friend.

I’m a leaf on a windy day
pretty soon I’ll be blown away
how long will the wind blow?
how long will the wind blow?
until I die — Brian Wilson

Brian’s passing is simply the latest in a long progression of deaths. He joined far too many of my musical favorites (idol is too strong a word) — Marty Balin, Paul Kantner, Ritchie Havens, Laura Nyro, Jerry Garcia, Frank Zappa, Marvin Gaye, Cass Elliot, John Philips, Sly Stone, George Harrison. Even though most of these folks died long after their peak years, each death chips away another piece of my childhood. I miss what was as I reflect on what it became.

Living in the Here and Now

I remember a conversation with my mom shortly after she turned 90. She asked me, “How did I get so old?” My answer was simple. “You didn’t die.”

To live a good life one must be willing to embrace change (and stay alive). It’s okay to feel sad about the passing of time as long as it doesn’t stop me from looking forward. There is still so much I want to do and who cares if I do it to the sounds of 1965?

I do need to find the time to write an actual article about Brian Wilson. He meant a lot to me and deserves 1000 words or so without all these tangents.

Thank you for reading and putting up with my meandering.

P.S. Sturdiwheat Pancake Mix (along with several other products) was invented in 1939 by Linda’s grandfather, Arnold Kaehler. His story is printed on the side of the package and can also be found here. I always keep a bag or two around for grandchild sleepovers and the occasional waffle indulgence — both of which occurred this past weekend.

Thanks to modern technology and online shopping, you don’t have to live in Minnesota to enjoy it. It’s also now made with organic ingredients. That’s something Arnold never dreamed was possible.

P.P.S. The people at the top of this blog article are my two friends, Steve and Randy, circa 1976. Nearly 50 years later I still keep in touch with Steve. Randy disappeared off the face of the earth a long time ago.

Two beams of light
white and wavering
two spots of red drifting behind

Mile after darkened mile I drive
alone with my thoughts
held captive by my pains and unwavering passions
foolishly dreaming and obsessing away

A quarter moon over Wisconsin
a full-throated cry of loss and despair

Drive on
drive on